


My Gelastic Flower

by Semi_Weird_Shipper



Series: Weirdo's Slasher/Bad Guy Stories [14]
Category: A Nightmare on Elm Street (Movies 1984-1994), Dead by Daylight (Video Game), Halloween Movies - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Drama & Romance, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Epilepsy, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Friendship/Love, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Injury Recovery, Panic Attacks, Reader has seizures, Suspense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-15 15:22:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28566153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Semi_Weird_Shipper/pseuds/Semi_Weird_Shipper
Summary: Survivor reader is new to the dbd world, but she has a flaw. A flaw that the other survivors refuse to comprehend or even begin to show mercy for. A flaw that won't let the reader even scream in fear for her life. A flaw that, from the shadows, someone is watching and possibly wanting to help her with.
Relationships: Danny "Jed Olsen" Johnson | The Ghost Face/Reader, Frank Morrison/Reader, Herman Carter | The Doctor/Reader, Leatherface | Bubba "Junior" Sawyer/You, Michael Myers/Reader
Series: Weirdo's Slasher/Bad Guy Stories [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1744741
Kudos: 181





	My Gelastic Flower

**Author's Note:**

> This story is purely self indulgent, ok, I wrote it for myself. Because guess what? Yup. Yours truly has epilepsy, and I absolutely hate it, especially when I'm in public and randomly start laughing. Oh, the wonder. I'm not looking for sympathy or anything like that. I just wanted to write something I could feel close to.

Back before your world became a mess of blood, fear, darkness and pain, there was a lot to be grateful for that helped you get through the stresses normal life caused you. Music, family, friends, dancing, movies, food and all the little things that were simple yet extremely enjoyable; they helped make life bearable, fun and at times exciting. Here.... Here there was nothing to be grateful for. Absolutely nothing. No friends, no family, no food- nothing. At least nothing good, that is.

There were people here, but they were far from the welcome-home friendly bunch you knew back at home. Their atmosphere in this world was desperate, foul, demanding and dark. As soon as you were cast here for whatever absurd reason, they immediately expected you to do your best working on bizarre, anonymous generators while also picking up on healing, unhooking, sneaking, and best of all.... Surviving! Yes, amazing. If rude, bossy, non-understanding team members wasn't bad enough, you had killers to splatter the red velvet icing on the gut cake that was your built up pain, anxiety and stress. And the taste of that cake soon led to the opening of your biggest flaw. Fear of facing death had always been one of your biggest anxieties, and now you got to anticipate it over, and over, and over again here in this very unreasonable hell loop. 

Do generators. Avoid whatever demented, crazed killer was in the tiny realm with you. Save anyone who was hooked and heal if needed. Never try to pull yourself off the hook- or better yet- just try not to get hooked at all. Do your best. Don't cry. Keep your stupid mouth shut. Don't get caught. And.... That's basically it; that's all they ever said. Well actually, that's all you got to hear that was helpful. 

Because after your first week kicked in, the stress became too much. 

You gasp in pure confusion whenever your greasy, shaking hands slipped on a cluster of wires causing the generator sitting right before you to mildly erupt with smoke and a ferocious, angry bang. You blink numerous times, mind completely unaware of what exactly was going on at the moment. It was as if your memory had been magically wiped clean. A familiar feeling that you had yet to fully pick up on or recover from. And as you began to come back to your senses, it was usually too late. 

After realizing that you had been working on a generator all by yourself, you blink even more, eyelids more notorious than an excited butterfly. You look down at your hands, unsure what was truly going on or what had happened. Everything just felt fuzzy, weird, out of order, as if you were drifting off into space and yet the tenacious pull of gravity was still throbbing deep inside you. The world was incomprehensible, strange...almost wonderful. 

And once your conscience started to fully awaken and grow naked to the knowledge of where exactly you were at and what you had been trying to do, you uncontrollably jerked, knuckles hitting against the hard, cold metal of the generator painfully hard but you had no way of expressing the true pain you felt. Nor the great, irrepressible fear. You made a funny noise- something between a huff and a forced back gasp, eyes blinking in confusion and terror. You knew exactly what was happening. Your epilepsy was kicking in, had been for a few days now, but there was no way to control it. Once you began to freak there was no stopping it, no fighting it off or calming down. 

In the distance you hear the sound of desperately ruffling grass and turn your head to see what was presumably a large man dressed in green overalls, thick work boots, and a strange, bone white mask. He was approaching at a menacing pace, his right hand holding out an odd, rectangular machete. 

Instead of being able to run, scream or even flinch in fear of the obvious danger that you were undeniably exposed to, you smiled out of pure reflex, the edges of your mouth trembling greatly as you laugh once, neck tilting back in lightheadedness. No. You thought in misfortune, fear, self loathing and anger. Not now. Not again. Move.... Move... Just move. Stop laughing! You laughed harder, your knees giving out from underneath you and causing you to collapse to your bottom, the soft dirt beneath you only reminding you just how hopeless you really were. 

Jerking in startlement, you once again feel your hands go numb as you throw your head to the side to try and see the killer. Yes, you were one hundred percent aware of what was happening, but you couldn't control what your body decided to do. It was a literal fight inside your brain. Unhinged was how you felt. Half controlled. Like someone was driving with broken legs and arms. You could see the road, you knew what was coming, but you were helpless against trying to brake at the edge of the cliff. 

He was only twenty feet away now. You shake, eyes closing as tears managed to slip out in attempt to express a hair of your true fear. You jerked, fighting with yourself to try and regain control over your body, but it was no use. The most you were able to do was close your mouth enough to sob and cry out "oh God" in a terrified, sad wail. Then you smiled again, body shaking so hard that you could feel your back, shoulders and arms beginning to tense and cramp. Looking up, you see him come within ten feet and laugh uncontrollably, body swaying to the opposite side in hopes that you wouldn't have to see him hit you like others had.

No one would save you. Honestly, you weren't sure if that was necessarily a bad thing really. Ever since the other survivors realized that you were terrifically flawed, they stopped trying to help you. In fact, they hated you, especially whenever you started laughing. And you had absolutely no way of telling them that you weren't doing it on purpose. It was a disease. Epilepsy. Grand mal and gelastic seizures. Black spots in your brain. Completely and utterly uncontrollable without proper medication which you surprisingly did not have here.

It wasn't your fault. You didn't choose to have this problem. Why would you want to start laughing when you were facing death! Who cares anyways... Oh right. No one. You were never going to get used to any of this. Oh, how you wished that you would just die and have it be done with for forever.

Before you, the killer stopped. You were holding your mouth in your trembling hand, tears still randomly streaming from your eyes as you awaited whatever style of torment was his favorite. This was humiliating and unfair. The fear, misfortune and common sense was beating like concert drums inside that vague part of your aware brain. You were fixing to die and you couldn't stop freakin laughing or jerking. How embarrassing and sad. You screamed once in anger and fear, but the laughing came back. 

The killer stopped right beside you, his boots glistening with dried blood and strands of muddy grass. You didn't want to see his weapon. Surely any second now it would be brought straight down on your head or shoulder or something. Although feeling as if you weren't completely there, the pain was always apparent and real. You always felt it no matter how foggy your brain. Yeah, thanks brain. You really do yourself good, you know that? Yeah.... 

You jerked once you tried scooting away, your arms flailing twice at your side as you began blinking again in confusion, brain drifting off into minor ignorance. These kind of episodes only happened when you jerked and made you completely unaware of what was going on for about ten to twenty full seconds. And then reality came crashing back down again. You gasp, the laughing thankfully ceased as you skitter back stiffly, sobs now finally beginning to escape your dry throat. "Nu-no..." 

You huff, your body feeling like it was seconds away from slipping into a full fledged episode. "I... I... I..." You felt your eyes roll upwards and garbled a choked, "Chhh-no... No..." You shuddered, goosebumps ravishing your stiff, sore body. 

Everything went black as only your body grew aware of all the thrashing and jerking it was doing, foam frothing from your mouth. Above you, the killer walked away.

... 

You weren't sure what happened in that last trial you were in. After that seizure, everything had just went blank. Blissfully so, you guess. If the killer had killed you, better that you weren't aware of it. You breathe out shakily while gazing around the edge of the survivor camp grounds. Where was everyone? Usually you all would have reginerated by now. You gaze down, looking at your palm and giving it a flex. You didn't feel that bad... Yet.

You knew you were safe here just as long as you didn't go around the survivors. They'd try to kill you if you went near them. So with your brain calm and body mostly lax, you began to wander off in the direction of a quiet, peaceful camping ground near the opposite side of the realm. It wasn't so much a camping ground as it was simply just a spot of cleared land and comfortable grass to sit on. Main importance was that no one was ever there and that was good enough for you.

When you got there, you were thankful to see that it was unoccupied as usual. Relieved, you took a seat on the long, tall grass and lean heavily against a tree, your hands stuffing themselves inside your hoodie pocket. It was taking a bit but you were slowly trying to learn how to mediate yourself in times like these so that you could try and feign peace in adversity. The trauma was suffocating and heavy, but you were a normally calm person and could often use your imagination to distract yourself from the harshness of reality. It was just harder when your real life was gone and never coming back and now you were stuck in this hell loop with cruel people and had to face death constantly with an ineffective disease you could not control.

Sighing, you closed your eyes and thank whatever luck was out there that you were feeling for the most part fine now. After episodes, you usually felt better. Just tired. You wanted to go to sleep. Despite your body feeling totally energized and ready to go, your brain was exhausted. These mental stampedes were just too draining. And sleep could be obtainable if you hadn't been so wound up with emotions.

That wasn't the last trial you'd ever have to be in. More were coming. Soon you'd have to face your cruel teammates and whatever brutal killer was next. Your epilepsy would probably immediately kick in and you would humiliate yourself and fuel the hatred of the other survivors. They'd drown you in mud again just to satisfy their intense anger for your lack of commitment. Your life was gone. You'd never get it back. There was no one. You had no one. All your books, movies, drawings... Everything was gone.

"Hey," Said a voice that belonged to a young man.

Eyes opening quickly, you lift your head and turn it to see a man around your age walking up from a group of enclosed trees. He had his head lowered, his dark brown hair short and simple as it gently blew in the tame wind. His hands were stuffed into the pockets of his jacket-hoodie, the color of which seemed awfully familiar but yet you couldn't quite place your finger on. He wasn't really that tall, you concluded, feeling somewhat more at ease.

"I'm Frank," He stated with a small, amused smile, his head tilting upward and exposing the knowledge of his dark, hazel eyes and minorly scarred yet structured fine face. The small distance he had stopped from you gave you a clear visual of the insane skull tattoo adorning his neck causing you to envy his great tolerance of pain yet pity the fact that age would most likely ruin the bizarre artwork.

"Hi there," You say in your usually polite, soft voice, head tilting in curiosity and mild suspicion, "I-I'm sorry, I'm not trying to seem rude but... Why are you here?"

"What? A guy can't try to get away from the rest of the cunt suckers every once and a while," Frank lifted out his clear hands in a small shrug, his lips drawing up into a grin, "Guess I should ask why you're here then, huh sweetness?"

You blink at him, not feeling particularly threatened but not entirely comfortable either. However, there was something about the man's aura that was almost comforting. Being fresh out of high school, you knew of boys with similar attitudes and personalities. Take it from some of your closest friends, you smiled warmly and nod, voice almost shy as you say, "Same."

Frank made a finger-gun motion as he tilted his hips forward, face twisted in a goofy grimace, "Look at that. We already got something in common. Survivors fucking suck, don't they?"

You smile and nod, hands nervously smoothing out over your thighs, "They do." So he was a survivor too? And he hated everyone else? "Is that why I haven't seen you before yet? Because of the others?"

"Exactamundo," Frank ungracefully plopped down inches away from you, sighing in relaxation as he leaned back against the same tree, "What about you, sweetness? You new here or something? Also, love the hair. What is that? Green?"

"Oh-uh, it's teal, thank you," You say somewhat bashfully as you reach up and brush your fingers through a lock of your long hair, "And uh... Yeah, I'm new here. What about you?"

Frank tilted his head towards you and rose two of his fingers up, his mouth thinned out as he stated bluntly, "Two years now. Gotta love it."

"Wow," You say and sit up a little, your hope clambering skywards and bathing in the light that you were finally getting to feel. "That's crazy... Can I ask how you've managed so long? I've only been here a week and I feel like I'm about to lose my mind."

Frank rose a brow at your nervous laugh and said gruffly, "Ehh, it's a pain in the ass at first, but you get used to it. But..."

"But what?" You ask, your eyes fluttering as you tilt your head at him in near anxious curiosity.

Frank gave you a thorough once over with his eyes before he mindlessly shrugged and gazed back out in front of him, "I didn't have seizures."

The amount of coldness, burning hatred, self loathing, misfortune and embarrassment that tore through you was inevitable. "Oh..." You say in dejection, eyes dropping to the swaying grass in front of you, "You know about that, huh?"

"Baby girl, I think everyone knows about it now," Frank said casually, his eyes unknowingly watching you from the side.

"Yeah... I guess so," You gaze away, your emotions just about as saggy as a lost, malnourished, wet dog. Alone you were in this absurd hell loop, with no one to help you or care or listen. The push that was your unavoidable seizures would soon lead to the hateful, unaccepting shove of the survivors, and you would be treated like the diseased ridden dog you felt you were. Heck, the abuse had already started. 

"You know there's a way to fix that shit, right?" You feel yourself freeze whenever the words were spoken, your heart thudding so loud in your quiet body it nearly ached.

"What?" You whisper and turn your head to point your significantly wide eyes at the teenage man, "There is?"

"That's what I just said, isn't it?" Frank lifted his hands out and rolled his eyes as he sat up, "Yep. There's a special place I can take you to- if you've got the balls for it, that is."

Watching him stand to his feet, you blink, heart racing in hope and mild suspicion. "Is there really a way to get rid of my epilepsy?" You ask somewhat thoroughly, not entirely trusting of this young, sketchy kid, "You aren't like trying to trick me as payback for the trials or something?"

"Sweetness, if I wanted to trick you, I wouldn't have told you anything," Frank smirked widely, a rather dumb look in his eyes as he lifted his bandaged hand out towards you, "Now, you coming or not? Because if this was all for not, I at least wanna be somewhere I'm actually wanted."

"I never said I didn't want you around," You say and reach out to take his hand, reluctance and hesitancy sitting strong inside the fear and common sense barking inside your brain. This could still be a trick, but, you weren't entirely sure. There was something about this kid was was severely believable. He kind of had a rude, stubborn, douche vibe, but it was because of that expressed doucheness that made you feel slightly more at ease. Someone who really wanted to trick you probably wouldn't be so... Careless.

"That so?" Frank rose an eyebrow as he swiftly pulled you to your feet, his eyes quickly checking out your neat, colorful hoodie, blue jeans and comfy shoes.

You nod your head, hands fumbling with your hoodie pocket, "Even if there wasn't a way to get rid of my epilepsy, I'd still wanna be friends with you." And that was the truth. This was the first person to approach you with valuable respect and concern although it was faint and barely provided on the surface. He was clearly just giving you the option. You didn't have to trust him, you didn't have to like him, and he knew that. Whether he cared or not was a mystery of its own. Besides, his attitude reminded you of home, and what little kindness he did express was enough to make you feel more comfortable than you had been around anyone in a long time.

Frank paused, his lips thin as he stared you in your glistening, wide eyes. No one, especially a survivor, had ever said anything like that to him. It was... Odd. He pursed his lips, trying to ignore the tingle in his chest as he turned away from you and gazed in the direction of the killer camp. You were weird. But weirdly nice. "I like you," He said flatly and began to wander forwards, "But don't let that fatten your brain, girly."

"Uhh... I won't, but thank you," You say and roll your eyes lightly. Strange man. You sadly wonder if he was the strongly judgemental type. Hopefully his judgment was only posed in the way of goodness and intelligence. "Can I ask you something, please?"

"Go for it, sweetness," Frank nodded and tilted his head back at your timidly following presence, "Also, get the fuck up here. I'm not some stupid giraffe, you know?"

"I'm sorry," You say quietly, feet quickening to match his pace so that you were walking right beside him although there was still a good five foot gap between the two of you, "I didn't know if you liked personal space or not."

At the sound of your more quiet, shy voice, Frank sighed and mentally scolded himself. Damn. He pretended to blame women for their vast sensitivity more than himself for feeling somewhat bad for being as harsh as he was, and said in a more soft tone, "It's all good, baby girl. You can do whatever you want. Just don't assume I'm a picky ass hole or anything."

He might not be picky but he was kind of an ass. You smile to yourself, loving that fact that using your upset, baby voice once again worked to weaken your prey's feelings. Oh men... So gullible and squishy on the inside. "I'm not," You answer and gaze over at him, your head tilting in curiosity, "Is it okay if I ask why you've decided to help me?"

Frank's eyes snapped upwards and he grinned a cheesy grin, his finger-guns once again waving jokingly at you. "I'm glad you asked, baby girl," He cleared his throat and began to explain with vivid emotion, "That short legged, four eyed, mother fucking chicken head Dwight is too much of a cunt to watch over his own God damn team members, especially ones like you, when he fucking knows good and damn well that there's a way to help you, and he's just what- not giving a fucking shit? Pisses me off..."

Dang. You blinked, admiring the man's tenacious passion, but fearing the strangulation and yielding-knife gestures he made. He might have a short temper. You'd have to watch yourself until you knew what exactly he was comfortable with joke wise. You too also felt some lack of respect for the leader Dwight considering the given knowledge that he refused to help you when he had more than the power to. "Maybe he just... doesn't like me," You inquire with a small head tilt to the side.

"That's bull shit, man," Frank, still in a daze of anger, shook his head and grumbled lowly to himself, "Fucking nice little cutie like you? You deserve better than those cunt sucking bastards."

Bowing your head at his truthful input, you feel yourself blush, hands pressing together nervously. You weren't necessarily uncomfortable around Frank, but his questionable demeanor put part of you on edge. While it would be easy to get used to his comical, wild, heavily linguistic mouth- and you meant that sarcastically- there was something about him that was off. Unlike other survivors who expressed heavy annoyance and anger at you, Frank was more... protective and supportive- of course in his own dramatic way. And also... the way he talked about the other survivors almost made it seem as if he had been expecting more from them when his years of living here should have already solidified his high expectations. And his pretenses were off.

You jerked, feet coming to a sudden halt as you stared down at your hands, that lost feeling of confusion washing over you. What was going on? You couldn't remember, eyes gazing around but not being able to properly register anything you were seeing. You sucked in a breath, unsure of what to do.

"Baby girl?" Frank halted in his tracks once he noticed you no longer following alongside him, "You okay?" He asked, frowning as he saw your dazed, confused eyes as you look up at him, blink and then look back down in a manner of what looked to be confusion.

"I-I... I don't know what's-I..."

Frank immediately felt a stab of fear inside his chest, his feet quick as he made way over towards you. "Hey, hey, baby girl, stay with me, alright?" He said in as calm of a voice as he could manage, "No spazzing out just yet, alright? We're almost there. Just a little further."

"I-I'm not doing it on purpose, I-I swear," You nearly chant in fast panic, eyes wide and beginning to water as you shake your head frantically and smile uncontrollably, "I swear... I'm not... I'm not."

"Whoa, whoa, baby girl. It's alright. I know you're not," Frank tried to keep himself too from panicking as he reached down to grasp your hands, "Just calm down, alright. Everything's gonna be fine."

You sobbed before you were forced to start laughing, tears streaming down your cheeks in immense fear and sadness. No. No, not now. Not when you had just found a person who was willing to understand, who was willing to help you and possibly be your friend. You laugh and cry at the same time, your body starting to ripple with harsh trembles as your anxiety for being left alone again turned serious. And you couldn't voice it either; how you were sorry, that you didn't want him to leave, that you weren't doing it on purpose. You hated this too. You just wanted it to be over.

"L-look, let's sit down, alright," Frank said and looked down, his feet shuffling to step in beside you so that he could help you descend to the ground. Damn, he wasn't prepared for this. He was really hoping he could have made it in time before you had an episode. The others had warned him of this. Damn. He really should have reconsidered his position.

Once you were sitting criss-cross on the soft grass below, Frank unceremoniously plopped down in front of you and reached out to grab your hands again. "Ok look, I don't know what's going on. All I know is that you have seizures and that this laughing shit is out of your control or something. I get it, okay? But I don't really know what to do, so I'm gonna start by asking you to fucking breathe like you're supposed to, alright? Just-ah," Frank forced himself to relax as he fought to regain his composure, but he wasn't openly confident about these kinds of ordeals. They freaked him out. "Breathe."

Frank leaned forward and placed a hand on your shoulder, his wide, hazel eyes gazing into your own watery ones. "Just breathe. Count sheep or something if it helps, but please... breathe," He couldn't stand seeing you begin to hyperventilate. It frightened him more than he ever wanted to admit. "Fuck..."

You cover your mouth as you sob awkwardly, your breaths rugged as you try to do as he said and focus on the strangled oxygen going into your pressured lungs. Your body was beginning to sore up from your intense shaking, and the innards of your chest began to burn and ache. You stare at Frank, your eyes drawing all over him in recognition, that little part of your conscience that was still there trying to make sense of the fact that he was still here. You weren't alone. He wasn't mad. You were okay. Just breathe.

"I'm here, ok," Frank nodded, remembering some of what Herman told him to say should this kind of thing happen, "I'm not leaving. I just want you to breathe. Just focus on breathing."

He was here and he wasn't leaving. You feel yourself relax some, eyes closing as you finally manage to thin your smirking lips out. The laughing stopped. You were calming down. Your breathing was still frantic and erratic but you were finally calming down. Oh, it felt so nice to have someone here with you, even if they had no complete idea of what was going on. They cared enough to stay and help you. And you were grateful for that.

Frank too focused on calming himself down, his heart racing like a mad drum as he gently patted and rubbed your hand. Fuck. He had not been prepared for this at all. Stabbing and killing people aside, this was a random, weird force of nature occurring uncontrollably in the human body and it freaked him the hell out. It wasn't a phenomenon he was very familiar with and particularly wanted to witness. It was disturbing. Come on. Give him a break.

Once you were to the limit of finally calming down enough that you were breathing mostly normal, you slouched back and covered your thumping chest, gazing Frank tiredly in the eyes and whispering in despair, "I'm sorry..."

"It's alright," Frank nodded quickly and patted your hand, "You feeling good now?"

His hands were harshly calloused around the palms, you concluded silently to yourself, enjoying the soft feeling of his warm, clammy fingers gently massaging your skin. He was nice. You nod, body still quite tense as you continue to try and bring your full self back forward.

"Think you'll be able to walk the rest of the way?" Frank asked and gave your shoulder a small shake, his hand going from your cheek to your forehead as if he was checking your temperature. Silly....

"I... I don't know," You whisper, afraid that he would leave you behind, "Usually.... usually after the first... it gets worse. Please.... please don't leave."

"I'm not leaving," Frank said quickly in order of giving you some form of closure as he gazed around, grounding out a small, "Well fuck." He wasn't sure what was the best thing to do at this point. You still had a good twenty minute walk to go, and he really, really didn't want to see one of your episodes. "What do you think about being carried?"

"Carried?" You repeat in small confusion, eyes squinting as you try to imagine what he was attempting to get at.

Frank smiled and nodded his head in a burst of confidence, his hands moving away from you so that he could crack his knuckles. "Yeah, carried," He pushed himself off the ground and gestured between the two of you, "I'll carry you the rest of the way so that you won't have to freak out as bad. Sound good? Alright, let's do it."

"Oh wh-wait-" You were cut off by Frank suddenly leaning over you so quickly that you barely had time to sling your arm around his neck as he scooped his arms underneath you and easily hoisted you up against his chest. Blushing like a firetruck, you grip the front of his jacket as a large gasp tore from your lips, your legs bouncing in his one arm as you feel him begin to walk forward. Fast. "Frank..."

"Oh, quit whining," Frank mumbled and reached forward to nuzzle your ear playfully causing you to giggle inadvertently, his chest feeling a lot less stressed out, "It's better this way."

"But..." You blink, gazing around and wondering how such a slim build like Frank was able to carry you as if you weighed absolutely nothing. Heck, you knew people in the real world almost twice as big who had non-confessed trouble trying to lift people up, especially bridal style. This guy... This guy wasn't deterred at all. He just kept walking as if all he were holding was a stuffed toy. "But I..."

"Look, I'm gonna demand this solely for your own benefit," Frank said and leaned his head forward to whisper lightly in your ear, "Shut up."

You growled at him as you shuddered, goosebumps attacking your body. Why'd he have to do that? You blushed and tried to relax as much as you could, eyes closing to possibly zone out the moving world around you. Frank was right. It was best not to think or move too much at all. It would trigger your epilepsy and cause you to spazz out, and you really, really didn't want to do that again. Especially not in front of him.

As Frank walked the rest of the way to his location, he figured that he might as well be quiet so that you could relax and rest in peace. Better to keep his mouth shut and not risk another episode. He just couldn't handle it. At times he gazed down at your relaxed, calm face that was so cute and innocent. There was much about you that was still a mystery. A mystery he kind of wanted to figure out. Whenever he stumbled, you would whimper, eyes squinting shut a tiny bit harder as you wiggled around lightly. So cute.

You weren't sure how long the walk actually lasted before your nose was tickled by a dusty kind of wind that was automatically ten times warmer than it previously had been. Your eyes fluttered open out of curiosity and you were looking around in bewilderment at the Western looking town you were in. Whoa. What was this place? You blink several times, eyes wide as you gaze around in astonishment. The sky... You gasp while looking up at the bizarre arrangement of stars. It was astonishing. You breathe softly, "Pretty."

"Very," Frank nodded, now understanding that you got weirdly sweet whenever you were in effect by the epilepsy. He carefully walked up the thin steps to the Saloon and tilted your body so that your feet helped open the swinging doors, "Alright. I brought her here. What's next?"

Having been expecting to see one or two survivors, you felt yourself go completely stiff at the horrific sight of a room filled with, not survivors, but killers.


End file.
